Arthur x Merlin
by Flagfish
Summary: M/M Romance ; How Merlin might have revealed himself had Arthur witnessed him command Kilgharrah to stop attacking Camelot; written originally on request for dragonspeak by a friend.


It were a curious thing, being dead.

You still saw the night. There still came blurry echoes and motion and space, the living scent of grass, the metal cold of armor, the aftertaste of burning that was unmistakably _flesh_—

No, he wasn't dead quite yet, only partway there; immobilized on the ground with the aftermath of trauma, Arthur could hear vaguely that the fight still was ongoing. It occurred to him that maybe they hadn't lost yet.

His vision hadn't quite fully returned, and the feeling of pain in his legs was now lost, but he could make out one among them still standing—only yards away from the dragon.

_Run in to help him. Get up and distract him away from the guy._ Arthur was entirely paralyzed.

Through the mist of disorientation, he could feel panic well inside with the very unpleasant sensation of helplessness.

The dragon wasn't advancing, though; it hadn't taken this perfect chance to burn them both alive. The bloke standing didn't take any measure to attack, either.

Even immobile though he were, Arthur felt all at once a shiver coursing electric all through him, with a sharp intake of breath as there issued a raw and reverberating roar, too close by for comfort, too animal to be anything but the last warning before being devoured—

It wasn't the dragon; it was the boy, and it went from utterly primal to something not quite human and not quite beast, and like nothing Arthur had ever heard before—

But even without understanding, even without being able to perfectly see, he could tell without doubt that _here was the unmistakable tone of authority_, here was the absolute force of command—

_Fucking hell, it was __**Merlin**__._

If Arthur could gape his mouth in shock, he would—for the moment, all he could manage was fast inspiration as he watched, his idiot prat of a manservant shouting unto the beast in a tone of dominance the likes of which he'd never imagined him capable of, in a language Arthur never had heard, _and the dragon went entirely docile._

He was somehow overcome with reverence he couldn't understand, before confusion or annoyance or the feeling of being somehow betrayed had really set in, and, for a few moments, he merely watched his servant with awe. He couldn't understand the language or deafening roars or shouts, but the dragon visibly could, he was writhing away in humility as Merlin had sharply pointed a heavy lance at him, eyes glaring fire—

His thin body was livid with passion, trembling with something like triumph and rage, and a deep, penetrating agony Arthur couldn't quite place; his voice, uncharacteristically authoritative and deep, still somehow came boyishly innocent— you didn't need to understand what it was he was saying; it became a profound truth that there was something in him at play far beyond _skilled_ or _unskilled_ or _magic_ or _foolish_ or _wise_, and into _timeless prophecy and legend_. The air was flickering electric with it all around.

Speechless with reverence, Arthur watched Merlin fend the dragon off with a few final shouts, the enormous beast bowing before finally taking off into the night sky; he was aware fundamentally as never before of being so affectionately, dearly protected he was moved to sentiment despite himself and taken with astonishment and love—

"You dealt him a mortal blow," Merlin told him when Arthur came to, blue eyes liquid with after-effect, breath still going and floating as steam, and he smiled at Arthur— that familiar, stupid servant boy smile. "_You did it_."

Was it all a dream? Was it something Arthur never was meant to see, did it ever happen at all— could it be that _Merlin_ really was capable of switching like that…?

_I'm coming with you._

_Merlin, chances are I'm going to die._

_Yeah, you probably would if I wasn't there_.

Arthur regarded him for several moments without saying a word.

There came the low whisper of branches swaying somewhere off; out in the woods, he could make out the soft hum of cicadas; the battle was over.

Arthur's hands came hard on both sides of Merlin's face, breath impatient and hot as he seized his mouth, _idiot, idiot_, he couldn't understand, he didn't know what to make of it, but he was entirely smitten and overwhelmed with love, and Merlin's bony hands fought against him uselessly, his voice muffled in protest before he began kissing back.

"Bollocks, are you mental?" Merlin finally sputtered as he gasped for air on his release, and Arthur laughed, cheeks red with the cold and with sensation that finally returned, his armor clinking and rattling as he slung one long arm around Merlin's shoulder.

_Do you know how many times I've had to save your royal backside?_

Arthur's eyes glittered in the low lights of nighttime as he grinned at Merlin, boyishly curious. _Really, _he wondered, _how many times…?_


End file.
